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Chapter 12
Igripped the file in my cold hands, sucking in air as fast as I could as Bellamy pulled up to the giant, gray stone villa. It resembled an old-world mansion – like someone had plucked it out of a catalog, or better yet a country hillside somewhere in England. The sleek, dark sedan that Knix had rented from the Buffalo airport passed under the iron-gated stone archway. The crisp, summer grass in the middle of the circular driveway sparkled with health andvitality.
I hadn't even stepped foot out of the car and already I was feeling rather inadequate. I felt, for sure, they would know me for a phony the moment I walked through the elegant front doors. Bellamy had changed from his airport clothes – jeans and a t-shirt – into a clean-cut, button down and a pair of neat gray trousers. I glanced down at my strappy heels with a sigh. I already missed my flip-flops.
"Ready, Harley?" Bellamy asked, using my pseudonym, as he slid the car intopark.
"As ready as I'll ever be," Ireplied.
“You’ll be fine,” Bellamy said quietly. “Just remember the advice Knix gave you and know that we can pull you out at any time. Keep your phone close. Keep in contact. We’ll be barely a few milesaway.”
I nodded, gripping the file closer and sliding it into the purse that matched myluggage.
"Memorize it if you can," Knix had told me on the plane. "But focus on the story you're going to be telling more. The story isn't just the words that come out of your mouth. It's how you present yourself, how you speak, what youwear."
If anything, I could say that I definitely presented the story I was trying to project, the young, wealthy daughter of an upper-class Charleston family. At least, through my appearance. Marv had chosen my clothes and props with care. Bellamy got out and I waited for him to open the door for me like I was expected to. As I stepped out in my heels, the ornate, double front doors of the villa opened. An older gentleman in a pristine suit stepped out followed by two middle-aged women in refined but simple black dresses. Bellamy went to the trunk and unloaded my luggage, handing it off to one of the women who disappeared into the villa withit.
"Miss Hampton, is it?" the older man approached me with a hand extended. I took it. "My name is Earl Wallace. I am Ms. Enders' personal assistant and I help her in the management and orchestration of the etiquette courses. We're so very glad you could makeit."
"I'm sorry for being late," I said with a reserved smile that Knix had coached me on. I needed to be soft-spoken, quiet, and reserved. It wouldn't make sense for me to be loud and boisterous if no one had heard of me or met me before. I thought for sure there were people in these girls' "circles", as Knix had put it, that they hadn't heard of or met before. But both he and Marv assured me that money always knew money, whatever thatmeant.
"It's quite alright, miss," Mr. Wallace replied. "We were informed of the delay. It couldn't be helped. Margarie here," he turned to the remaining woman and she stepped forward, "would be delighted to show you to your room. There will be a tea party at 3 pm that all ladies are required to attend. Until then, you may have leisure time to yourselves. Etiquette activities will start tomorrowmorning."
"Thank you, Mr. Wallace." I followed Margarie into thevilla.
No matter how badly I wanted to turn around and take one last look at Bellamy, I didn't. I wouldn't risk it. We were here for a reason and with the girl from the club's image in my mind, I knew it was a very seriousreason.
The inside of the mansion was just as opulent as the outside. While the stone walls of the villa had been aged with time, they had been clean. Inside, the floor had been shined to within an inch of its life. Windows let in natural light above the front doors. The sun's rays struck the crystal chandelier above and refracted a thousand glorious rainbow shapes around the room. Margarie walked through without batting an eyelash as if it was nothing to be impressed by. I tried to contain my awe and follow herlead.
We strode towards a set of rich, dark mahogany stairs. Large paintings hung on the walls as we ascended them to the second floor. From somewhere in the house, I could hear the sound of people talking. Young female voices drifted through the hallways, getting progressively louder as we approached what I suspected was the camp attendee's wing of the villa. Several young girls popped their heads out of various rooms as Margarie and I strode by. She stopped at the end of the hallway and opened a door that revealed an exquisite gold themed bedroom. It took everything I had not to let my jawdrop.
"We apologize if the room is a bit small," Margarie said in a quiet, but proper tone. "This was our last roomavailable."
"It's fine," I assured her. More than fine, the room was...a freaking palace. The high arched ceilings, the settee on the end of a king-sized bed. I stepped further into the room, noticing that my luggage had already been delivered and left open on my bed. The clothes had been removed though. I glanced around and noticed tall mirrored doors. I went over to them and slid them open, revealing a short hallway with suede seats and my clothes hung on a rollingrack.
Keeping my gaze composed, I turned back to Margarie. "Where will the tea party be?" Iasked.
"It'll be in the lounge, miss," she replied. "Is there anything more I can do foryou?"
"No, thank you," I said. "You may leave now. I need to freshen up. It was a long flight and an even longer drive." It had been just over a three-hour flight to Buffalo, New York and a drive that had seemed to take longer because of all of the information I had gone over. We were nearly over the border into Canada, and had merely driven completely around Lake Ontario. I wondered, briefly, if there had been a closer airport and thought, perhaps Knix had been planning it like that for areason.
Whatever that reason, I couldn't even consider it right now, I was too absorbed in how extravagant my temporary bedroom was. If this was one of their "smaller" rooms, I couldn't imagine what their other rooms must looklike.
I sat on the bed and closed my suitcase, setting it on the floor beside the nightstand. Even the nightstand, I realized, had a marble surface. If I turned, I could see out the window behind the bed's headboard. Lush green gardens circled the side of the villa. I watched as several girls in day dresses just like mine walked together through the flowers and over the cobblestone paths. One of them paused and looked up at my window. I wasn't sure if she could see me, but when another girl came along and nudged her shoulder, she turned away without a second glance. I wondered where they were going and glanced at the clock only to realize I only had thirty minutes before the tea party would begin. They were likely already heading that way. But...hadn't Margarie said it would be held in thelounge?
I sighed and quickly closed the mirrored doors to the closet before heading into the ensuite bathroom. I stopped in the doorway and shook my head. It was large enough to be another bedroom with both a large jacuzzi tub and a separate glass shower. I washed my hands and smoothed my makeup back into place. I hardly recognized myself. My hair had been put up in an elegant twist – how Marv knew how to do hair was still a mystery – and my shift dress had been complimented by the added purse. I wondered if I needed to bring it downstairs withme.
Once in the bedroom again, I debated for several moments on whether or not it would be proper to carry a purse to a tea party. Finally deciding against it, I slipped my phone out of its case to make it less bulky and tucked it into my bra, though I doubted anything terrible would happen out in the open. I made my way into the hallway where a few girls had already gathered to walk down together. The tallest was a willowy girl in a tightly fitted, mustard yellow pencildress.
"Hi there, you must be Harley Hampton," she said as sheapproached.
I looked up at her with a smile. "I am," I said. "And youare?"
She quirked an eyebrow at me curiously before holding out her hand. "Delilah Ernest, my father is Bernard Ernest – the fashion designer." She smiled before releasing my hand and looked down at her dress. "Though I'm sure you can tell. I always wear the best." I didn't have the heart to tell her my own thoughts on anything resembling a condiment, so all I did was give her another ofHarley'ssignature smallsmiles.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," I saidpolitely.
"We're about to head down to the lounge," she said. "Would you like to join us?" She gestured towards the two other girls waiting just a few feetaway.
